DISCLAIMER:  These folks belong to Chris Carter, Ten-
Thirteen Productions and the FOX network. I'm just borrowing
them for a little while.  Two of them--Raven and Annelle 
Hollis, belong to me and should not be used without my 
permission.

Also---I doubt there's such a thing as a "trademark database," 
but there SHOULD be one, and for the purposes of this story, there is one. ;)

This is a pre-quel to 12 DEGREES OF SEPARATION and takes
place in that universe.  Rates PG 13 for adult language and
situations.


12 RITES OF PASSAGE
#11:  "Resurrection"
By Anne Haynes
AHaynes33@aol.com



Fox Mulder's Apartment
February 18, 1998
8:44 p.m.


Mulder stared into Scully's wide eyes, searching for a sign
that would tell him it was okay to believe.  She had so long
been his touchstone, he found that now, in this most
important of moments, he couldn't allow himself to believe
until he saw it in her eyes as well.

She gazed back at him, tears making her eyes glitter in the
low light from the lamp by the window.  "I asked the
Chandlers to let me borrow Sarah's childhood photo album."

She was presenting him with evidence, he realized.  In true
Scully fashion, she was giving him the assurance he needed.
This is real.  Scully has proof.

His hands began to shake.

She gently took the folder from his hands and put it on the
coffee table.  She returned her hands to his, folding her
fingers over his trembling ones.  "I know this is hard to
take in."

He shook his head, remembering another time when he'd let
himself believe.  "Are we sure it's her?  Are we sure it's
not another--"

"I believe that Sarah Chandler is your sister, Mulder." 
Scully's voice was calm, firm and low.  "I believe that the
evidence in this case points to that fact.  I believe that
once we find her, DNA tests will prove that fact to
everyone's satisfaction."

Her words wrapped themselves around him, holding him steady,
keeping him from flying apart.  "How?  How did she--how
will--" He shut his mouth, realizing that he couldn't utter
a sensible statement right now.  

"Mulder, I don't know why your sister was taken in the first
place.  I don't know if it was what Carter Christopher told
you--a way to keep your father in line.  But I believe that
the reason she was taken this time was because her memories
of being Samantha Mulder were beginning to return.  Do you
remember that journal I told you that Sarah Chandler kept? 
The one that her friend Anne Milliken let me read?"

He nodded, his neck feeling stiff and creaky.

"One of the impressions she had was of a boy.  She said the
boy was someone she trusted, but also someone at whom she
was angry.  He made fun of her."

Mulder closed his eyes, guilt washing over him in a wave. 
"The last thing I said to her--"

Scully squeezed his arm.  "She said he was someone she
loved, too.  But listen to me, Mulder.  Something has been
nagging at me ever since I saw that picture of Sarah as a
child. Something she wrote in the margin of the journal."

"What?"  Was that his voice?  That strangled, scratchy
sound?

"She wrote, 'I do not like them here or there.  I do not
like them anywhere.'"

"'I do not like green eggs and ham,'" he murmured.  His
stomach ached.

"'Would you eat them with a fox?'" Scully said softly.

Mulder wrapped his arms around his stomach, rocking gently,
his mind in the past.  Samantha yelling at the top of her
lungs, screaming the Dr. Seuss rhyme over and over until he
was ready to throttle her.  "I'm afraid."

She touched his cheek.  "What are you afraid of?"

"I'm afraid to believe it's her."

"Because you don't know where she is?"

"Because I gave up on her."  He closed his eyes.  "I gave up
on her, Scully.  I'm afraid to believe she's out there,
needing me, and I gave up on her.   Just like before."

"Before?  Before when you spent years sacrificing everything
in your life to your quest to find your sister?"  Scully
cupped his chin in her hand and made him open his eyes and
look at her.  "Mulder, in my whole life I have never known
anyone as passionate and dedicated to a single goal as you
have been.  The idea of Samantha still being alive would
seem like the height of implausibility to almost anyone
else--"

"Like you?"

She flinched as if he'd struck her.  She dropped her hand to
her lap.  "Yes.  Like me."

He shook his head.  "You never let me give up, Scully.  Even
this time--you tried to talk me out of it."

"I wanted to believe.  For your sake."  She looked away from
him.  "But I never did.  Not really."

He studied her downcast face, surprised by the guilt he saw
in her expression.  Did she think she'd failed him?  Could
she possibly believe that?  "It was enough that you wanted
to believe, Scully.  That was all I needed to know--that you
WANTED to believe she was alive."

She met his eyes.  "I did want that.  I wanted her to be
alive more than I can tell you.  And when I saw that
picture--"  She gestured toward the folder on the coffee
table.  "All I could think is that I'd found her for you. 
It felt like the most significant thing I'd ever
accomplished."

He wanted to pull her into his arms and show her how much
her unflagging loyalty meant to him.  But he didn't trust
himself--he was afraid that if he touched her now, he'd
never be able to let her go.  He was afraid he'd consume
her, swallow her whole with his need.

He clenched his hands in his lap.  "I was ready to give her
up."  A wry laugh escaped his throat.  "My timing was always
shitty."

"Mulder, you can't blame yourself.  You just can't."

But he did.  He'd lost his faith, and now he was being
punished for his apostasy.  He'd been shown a glimpse of the
prize--then had it snatched away from him.  "They have her,
don't they, Scully?  The ones who took her in the first
place."

"I think so.  I think they're doing something to--erase--her
memories."  Scully sounded acutely uncomfortable uttering
those words.  "Like what happened to you in Idaho at Ellens
Air Force Base.  You said you saw something, but they took
the memory from you."

"You didn't believe me then, Scully."

"I believe you now."

He smiled, touching her cheek with the tip of his
forefinger.  "No, you believe IN me."

She nodded.  "I also believe that whatever it is they're
doing to your sister right now, they intend to keep her
alive.  Maybe even return her to her life as Sarah
Chandler."

"But will they let her live now?" Mulder asked, his heart
thudding with anxiety.  "They have to know you went to
Charleston.  That you may well know her true identity."

She sighed.  He could see the truth in her eyes.  "Yes."

"Do you think they'll kill her?"  Once again he found
himself looking into her eyes for permission to believe.

"Mulder, they let her live this long for a reason.  I
imagine that reason still exists."  She sounded as if she
were explaining something very obvious.  He took comfort in
her certainty.  "If they think it's dangerous to return her
to her life as Sarah Chandler, they'll probably create
another 'cover story' for her.  But I don't believe they'll
kill her after all this time."

He didn't have that kind of optimism.  So he borrowed hers
for a little while.  Later he could wonder and agonize and
fear, but right now, he wanted to be happy that his sister
was alive.   "We have to go find her, Scully."

Scully's brow creased.  "How?  We know who she is now,
but we still don't know WHERE she is.  I've got Pendrell
working on tracking down that logo I remembered."

He passed his hand over his jaw, stunned for a second
to feel how smooth it was.  He was used to having beard
stubble by this time of night.  But he'd showered and
shaved only a couple of hours ago, anticipating Scully's 
arrival.  He'd also picked up Thai take-out that was 
growing cold on the stove, not to mention indulged in
an embarrassing display of unoriginality by digging out a
Barry White CD.  He'd had plans for a very different sort of 
evening.

But now there were more pressing concerns.  "There's got to 
be something we can do--"

"Is there anyone you could contact?" 

He considered the question for a moment.  "No.  No one
I trust anymore."

"Raven never told me how to contact her.  She just had 
her people knock me over the head and throw me in the
back of a van."  She smiled wryly.  "I could go stand on
the street corner and see if history repeats itself--"

"No."  He knew she was kidding, but he shuddered
anyway, remembering the agonizing hours he'd spent
waiting to hear from her after her call to him had been
cut off.  "You told Pendrell to call as soon as he found
something?"

"Yes.  Mulder, I know you want to do something, but right
now there's nothing to do.  She could be anywhere--she 
might be across the country or across the world.  We have
to work with the clues we have."

"Maybe there was something in her e-mails to you?"

"I didn't save them, Mulder."  She looked away from him.
"But I don't remember anything that would give us a clue."

He closed his eyes, fighting a keen sense of disappointment.

"I called Anne Milliken from Charleston," Scully added. 
"She's overnighting Sar--Samantha's journal to us.  I gave 
her our account number and asked her to send it for earliest
delivery, so it will be here by 8:30 at the latest."

She really had covered all the bases, he realized.  But it
grated on his nerves that he couldn't DO something.  He 
needed to take action.  His sister was alive and she needed
him.
 
Scully reached out and closed her hands over his.  "I know
this is frustrating for you.  But we've done everything we can
for now."

She was right.  He sighed and tried to relax.  "You said the 
Chandlers sent photos?"

She crossed to her overnight bag and pulled out a vinyl-
bound photo album.  She handed it to him and sat next to him
on the sofa, tucking her legs up under her and sliding her
arm across the back of the sofa behind him.  She enfolded
him with her warmth, and he gave himself over to the secure
sensation of it for a moment.  He let the guilt and the fear
seep away, replaced by the heady joy of knowing that his
sister was somewhere out there, alive and waiting for him to
come get her.

He took a deep breath and opened the photo album.


*  *  *  *  *


46th Street
New York City
9:12 p.m.


"This is a grave situation.  Everything we've worked for
could be lost."  The thin cadaverous man that Raven knew
only as Mr. Howard paced near the window.  Outside, rain was
falling lightly, softening and refracting the lights of the
city until they sparkled like Christmas lights.  

For a second, Raven thought about home, a place where she
had not been for more years than she could remember. 
Michigan was much farther away than it appeared on the map. 
Light years away.

"What is the worst case scenario?" Ray Leone asked.  The
heavy-set man looked old and tired.  The past few days had
taken a heavy toll--his son, she was told, was inconsolable.
They had not yet discovered Leigh McGraw's treachery,
thankfully.  Perhaps, if Raven was lucky, they never would.

She was playing a dangerous game, she knew.  She couldn't
boast of some noble higher cause.  Her motives were purely
personal.  Purely a matter of vengeance.

She didn't have the power to bring them down from the
outside.   But from the inside....

"Worst case scenario--Mr. Mulder and his lovely partner find
Miss Mulder before she is ready to be returned."  Carter
Christopher glanced across the room at the man in the corner
of the room.  Raven had never heard him called by name--he
was generally referred to as "our associate in Washington." 
She called him Black Lung.  

Black Lung lifted his cigarette to his lips and sucked in a
lungful of smoke.  "Obviously she cannot be returned to her
present identity.  We are already taking steps to give her a
new identity.  She will be relocated."

"Can we take that risk?" Mr. Howard asked.

Mr. Glen pulled off his glasses and put down the file he was
perusing.  "We should have terminated her twenty-three years
ago."  

Mr. James put down his cup of coffee.  "I agree."

"Why not give her back to her brother?" Black Lung took
another draw on his cigarette.  He exhaled, obscuring his
face with smoke.

"Give her back?"  Mr. Howard gaped at the smoking man.

"Complete the memory wipe and give her back.  She will
remember nothing of her experiences after her abduction
twenty-five years ago.  She will remember nothing of her
more recent abduction either.  And Mr. Mulder will have no
reason to continue his search for the truth."

Carter Christopher stood and crossed the room slowly.  He
was a thin man, but he exuded a presence like no other man
Raven had ever known.  It was to Black Lung's credit that he
hardly flinched.  "Surely you know that Mr. Mulder has a
second obsession that will not end with the return of his
sister."

Black Lung calmly took a last draw on his cigarette.  He
crushed the butt in the nearby ashtray and exhaled slowly. 
"I am aware of Mr. Mulder's more recent attachments, Mr.
Christopher.  I am also aware that a man like Mr. Mulder is
single-minded in his attentions.  I suspect that were we to
give him what he's spent his adult life searching for, his
other 'attachments' may well be weakened.  And that will
benefit us all."

Carter stepped back, his eyes narrowing slightly.  "Do you
really think he would turn his back on his partner?  After
the sacrifice he made before?"

Black Lung shrugged.  "He never meant to give up either of
them.  And knowing young Mulder's propensity for guilt, I
doubt he'd make the same sacrifice twice."

Then you don't know "young Mulder," Raven thought.  Then
again, men were obtuse about things like love and fidelity. 
They were always the last to know.  

But she knew.  She had seen.  

"No," Carter said finally.   "She is too great a risk.  Take
steps to terminate her as soon as possible.  Leave no
evidence.  And the facility must be shut down. Permanently."
He turned his back to Black Lung and poured himself a
snifter of brandy, so he didn't see the glare of pure hatred
Black Lung shot his way.

But Raven did.  And she recognized it for what it was.  It
wasn't defiance--Black Lung would follow his orders because
he was a good soldier.  He understood the notion of
sacrifice for the greater good.

But he would hate Carter for the rest of his life for what
he was being forced to do.  Like all good enforcers, Black
Lung had learned how to compartmentalize his feelings.  But
that didn't mean he didn't have them.  

Samantha Mulder meant something to him.  And though he'd
kill her, it would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Fool, she thought.  Stupid fool.

Luckily, she was not as good a soldier as people supposed. 
Her loyalties lay somewhere none of them would suspect.  

She crossed to Carter.  "I'm going home, unless you need me
for anything else?"

He met her open gaze, his face softening.  He had real
affection for her, she knew.  It gave her a perverted sense
of satisfaction.  "Yes, my dear.  I have no further need of
you tonight."

She slipped from the room quietly, confident that the other
men would hardly notice her departure.  They were of the old
school--they tolerated the presence of a woman in their
midst because Carter was a powerful man, but they thought
her to be of no consequence.  

Which is exactly how she preferred it.

She caught a cab at the corner and gave the driver her home
address.  But after she was certain she was several blocks
from prying eyes, she changed her destination. 

The cab turned at the next corner and headed for J.F.K.
Airport.


*  *  *  *  *


Sci-Crime Lab
FBI Headquarters
9:34 p.m.


Alan Pendrell tapped the down cursor, scrolling through the
Trademark database in search of the logo Dana Scully had
faxed to him.  He'd gone through the current files with his
customary thoroughness and come up with nothing.  He'd now
backdated about five years to see if the logo could be
something that was out of date.  

He had the lights low as he worked at the computer.  No
reason for the mood lighting; he just felt the occasion
called for it.  He was working on an X-File, after all.  He
had to admit to a secret thrill at being there in the
mostly-deserted building late in the evening, working hard
to crack a case that was obviously a big deal to Dana Scully
and her partner.  He almost felt like a real field agent. 
Agent Alan Pendrell, Federal Bureau of Investigation.  

"Who died and made you Eager Beaver?"

The low drawl almost made him jump out of his skin.  He
whirled around and met the amused gaze of Annelle Hollis.  
"You scared the life out of me!" he scolded.

Annelle grinned and crossed to the cubicle next to him. She
grabbed a swivel-back chair and sat.  "How can that be,
Alan?  Obviously you HAVE no life.  Do you know what time it
is?"

He frowned at her, torn between annoyance at the
interruption and curiosity at the sight of her out of her
work clothes.  She looked very...different.  Her hair, loose
from its usual neat chignon, fell thick and dark to her
shoulders.  She had lost the business suit with the cut-too-
large jacket, opting for a soft black sweater and faded
Levi's.  She wasn't wearing much make-up and looked too
young to be a six-year Bureau veteran.  

He tore his eyes away from the confusing sight and looked
back at the computer screen.  "Apparently neither do you, or
you wouldn't be here at 9:30 in the evening."

"I was on my way home from dinner with a friend and saw the
light burning in the office.  Wondered what glutton for
punishment was racking up the brownie points, that's all." 
She scooted closer.  "Whatcha working on?"

He minimized the program.  "It's classified."

Annelle's eyes narrowed.  "Something for Dana?"

"It's an X-Files related case, yes."

Annelle sighed and rolled her chair backwards a few paces. 
"I see."

He glanced at her, surprised by the weary tone.  "I thought
you were a supporter of the X-Files project."

"Oh, I am.  Anything that keeps Fox Mulder hanging around
this building is okay in my book," she said with a wry grin. 
"But I know where to draw the line between support and
sycophancy."

He glared at her.  "I'm doing my job."

"You're trying to impress Dana Scully."

"I'm trying to help two fellow agents solve a very important
case--"

The computer made a small beeping noise.  Pendrell turned to
the screen, immediately focused.  He maximized the program
and saw the flashing dialogue box on the screen.

MATCH.



*  *  *  *  *


Fox Mulder's Apartment
9:38 p.m.


"Look at that one."  Mulder's finger brushed across the
plastic sleeve protecting the photo of his sister at age 14,
grinning at the camera to give the photographer a full view
of her mouthful of braces. "Always knew she was going to
have to have braces."

"They looked much better on her than they did on me," Scully
murmured, only glancing at the picture before she returned
her gaze to Mulder's face.  Watching him watch his sister
grow up in photographs was one of the most incredible
experiences of her life.  Mulder was a pro at hiding his
emotions behind a stony facade, but she had long since
learned to decipher the smallest twitch of his lips or blink
of his eyes.  

She had spent almost six years with this frustrating,
endearing man, watching him struggle with his own demons as
well as the lies and machinations of others.  She'd watched
him have his loyalty betrayed, his affections trampled, his
faith undermined, but he'd never given up.  Being his
partner had often been more agony than ecstasy, but right
now, right here, she was reaping her rewards.

She was watching this man she adored finding a moment of
sheer joy.  It didn't matter that darkness circled them with
hungry eyes.  It didn't matter that they would have to face
the fact that Samantha was still missing.  For this night,
this moment, Mulder was happy, and it was almost more than
she could bear.

"God, she's beautiful, isn't she?"  He looked up at her, his
eyes alight like a child.  This is the boy who lost his
sister, she realized.  This is what he looked like.  This is
how he was before.

She ached for him, knowing that more than just his sister
had been stolen from him twenty-four years ago.  "Yes, she's
very beautiful."

"She looks like pictures of Mom when she was young...." 
Mulder's eyes widened.  "Mom--she doesn't know--"

"Do you think you should tell her?  We still don't know
where she is--"

The light went out of his eyes, and she looked away, unable
to bear the sight of sadness encroaching on his brief joy. 
"You're right.  No need to get her hopes up when we don't
know--"

"I just meant you should present Samantha to her in person."
She, too, felt the growing weight of reality, but she
struggled to keep hope foremost in her mind.  They WERE
closer than they'd ever been.  They knew where she was just
three weeks ago, and they knew what she looked like.  They
knew the consortium was involved--

"Is that your phone?"

Scully looked up at Mulder's soft question.  She did hear a
soft trilling sound, she realized.  She'd left her phone in
the pocket of her coat, which she'd hung up to dry in
Mulder's bathroom.  She went to get it.  "Scully."

"Agent Scully, it's Alan Pendrell.  I've got something."

Her heart leapt with excitement.  "The logo?"

"It's a discontinued trademark--was replaced three years
ago.  A company called Pinck Pharmaceutical."

Scully's stomach turned over.  Why hadn't she figured that
out herself?  She'd seen first hand Pinck Pharmaceutical's
treacherous alliance with the consortium.  She'd seen the
evidence destroyed in a Virginia prison incinerator.  It
could come as no surprise that Pinck Pharmaceutical was also
aligned with a monster like Ishimaru.

"I'm already running a full profile of the company,
including its corporate structure and the location of its
warehouses," Pendrell said.

"Great, Alan.  I'll be there in a few minutes."  She shut
off her phone and turned, almost colliding with Mulder.

"What does he have?"

She told him what Pendrell had told her about Pinck
Pharmaceutical.  

His eyes darkened with anger and more than a little fear. 
"And now the bastards have my sister."

"Pendrell's running a profile.  I've got to change clothes
and head to the office."

"Let me grab a coat--"

"No, Mulder, you stay here.  You haven't slept in days."

"You're out of your mind if you think I'm staying here,
Scully."

"There's nothing you can do there, Mulder, that I can't do
by myself.  It's going to be a lot of paper pushing and
keyboard pounding.  Stay here, look at the rest of the
photos and maybe get some sleep--"

"No.  I'll bring the album with me and I'll stay out of your
way if you want, but I'm NOT staying here."  His chin jutted
stubbornly.  "Don't expect me to.  You wouldn't do it if it
were your sister."

Pain slashed through her chest, and she dropped her eyes,
not wanting him to see the sudden tears.

"Damn it."  He made a hissing sound of frustration.  "I
didn't mean it that way, Scully--"

She blinked away her tears and looked up at him.  "I know.
And you're right.  I wouldn't stay here if it were Melissa. 
But I'm driving."

He nodded.  "I'll grab an umbrella while you change."  He
closed the bathroom door behind him.

She stripped off the borrowed sweatsuit and dressed in the
spare suit she'd packed for her trip to Charleston.  It was
a little rumpled, but she wasn't concerned about
appearances.  She slung the strap of her overnight bag over
her shoulder and met Mulder in the living room.  He was
stuffing the photo album in a gym bag to carry with him.  He
hadn't taken the time to change from his black turtleneck
sweater and faded jeans, but he'd donned a heavy overcoat
and found an oversized umbrella for them to share. 

He handed over the keys to his car without having to be
asked, holding the umbrella over her head until she was
behind the wheel.  He slid into the passenger seat,
chuckling as they both reached down to readjust the seats.

"Not a word about my little feet," she warned, trying to
ease the gut-wrenching anxiety that she knew they were both
feeling.

"Wouldn't dream of it."  His voice was soft with unspoken
gratitude.  He knew what she was trying to do.

You want spooky, Fox Mulder?  Spooky is how we have whole
conversations without words. That's what's spooky.  She had
never in her life experienced the kind of communion she
shared with her partner.  He had changed her life.  He
continued changing it, every day, every hour, every second.

They had things to sort through when this was all over, but
Scully didn't dwell on those questions as she took the
quickest route to the Hoover building.  She thought instead
about the incandescent joy she'd seen on her partner's face
for one brief, shimmering moment.  He'd seen a glimpse of
his heart's desire, so close he could almost put out his
hand and touch it.  She wanted to give it back to him
forever.

She wanted to give him his heart's desire.

Pendrell was waiting for them in the Sci-Crime lab.  A
short, dark-haired girl with laughing brown eyes was with
him, Scully noted with surprise.  One of the Sci-Crime
fingerprint experts, if her memory served her.  Anna or
something.  She glanced at the i.d. tag attached to the
waistband of the woman's jeans.  Annelle Hollis.

Scully looked up at Mulder.  He didn't even seem to notice
the other person's presence.  He towered over Pendrell. 
"What've you got?"

"Pinck Pharmaceuticals has warehouses across the U.S.,"
Pendrell informed them, motioning for them to join him at
the computer.  "Eugene, Denver and San Diego in the West,   
Kansas City, Houston, and Detroit in the heartland, 
Tallahassee, Birmingham and Memphis in the South, and
Boston, Camden and Rockville, Maryland in the East."

"Rockville?"  Mulder latched onto the nearest location. 
"That's practically minutes away."

Scully cut her eyes at the other woman in the room,
wondering how much she knew and if she could be trusted.  

Mulder merely ignored her and pressed on.  "Where is the
Rockville site?"

"North of the city--a little over halfway to Gaithersburg."

"Let's go."

Scully grabbed Mulder's arm.  "Mulder--we can't just
trespass on private property."

He turned on her, his eyes dark with anger.  "Damn it,
Scully, this no time to be prissy about the rules.  This is
SAMANTHA, for God's sake!"

She clenched her jaw and stood her ground.  "I know that.  I
also know that if you go bursting in there like a maniac,
you could get her killed!"

"You expect me to just sit here?"

"I expect you to put your feelings aside and use your head,
Mulder.  If you can't do that, I'm going to call Skinner
right now and have him take you off the case.  Now calm down
and let's think this through rationally."  She met his
fierce gaze with deliberate calm, although her own nerves
were jangling wildly.  She watched as he visibly regained
control, felt him drawing on her strength as surely as if
he'd reached inside her body and pulled out something 
tangible.  

"Okay, okay."  He raked his hand through his hair.  He
seemed to notice Annelle Hollis for the first time.  "Who
are you?"

"Agent Hollis."  The dark-eyed woman didn't flinch beneath
his dark gaze.  Tough one, Scully thought, even if she did
look like a kid.  "Shall I leave or can I be of help?"

Mulder's eyes narrowed.  "What's your specialty?"

"Fingerprints, but that's not the limit of my talents.  I
make a mean cup of coffee, and I'm not too proud to fetch
and carry.  Shall I?"  She glanced at Scully as if expecting
feminist backlash.  

Scully merely nodded.  "Thanks, Annelle--that would be
great."

The woman left the room, and Scully turned back to Mulder
and Pendrell.  "Mulder, I don't think that Pinck
Pharmaceutical would have Samantha at an active warehouse or
distribution site."

He and Pendrell both turned to look at her, their eyes
widening with realization.  "Of course, you're right,"
Mulder said, looking a bit sheepish.

"I'm sorry--I should've thought of that."  Pendrell looked
even more mortified.

"What about defunct sites?" Scully asked.

"I'm not sure they would be listed," Pendrell admitted.  "I
can look."

"Please."  Scully crossed to Mulder's side and put her hand
on his arm, drawing him toward the corner while Pendrell
entered the new data query.  She lowered her voice. 
"Mulder, I'm sorry I pulled a hard-ass act with you--"

He shook his head, cutting off her apology.  "Nothing I
didn't need and deserve.  Thanks for realizing that."

She wanted to wrap her arms around him and hold him tight,
reassure him that it was going to be all right.  She settled
for squeezing his hand gently before returning to Pendrell's
side to see if he was having any luck.


*  *  *  *  *


Sci-Crime Lab
FBI Headquarters
11:26 p.m.


Mulder stretched his arms over his head to ease the cramping
tension in his neck and shoulders.  He felt Scully's gaze on
him at his first movement--she was worried about him.  The
concern emanated from her in palpable waves.  

His feelings were still all jumbled and fragmented.  He
couldn't seem to get a good grip on anything--was he happy? 
Sad?  Angry?  Afraid?  He didn't know.  Part of him was
begging to just shut down, to close his eyes and let
darkness swallow him.  He was so tired.  He hadn't slept
well in a week, maybe longer.  He'd certainly had no more
than two or three hours of sleep a night for the past five
days.  Sheer exhaustion hovered at the edges of his
consciousness like a descending fog.  He couldn't keep going
like this--but if he was lucky, maybe he wouldn't have to.

"Anything?"  He looked over Pendrell's shoulder at the
screen.  They'd gone done a universal search and come up
with nothing, but Annelle Hollis had suggested trying a
commercial pharmacology homepage on the World Wide Web, and
Pendrell had been weaving his way through link after link in
search of any mention of Pinck Pharmaceutical.  The techie
glanced over his shoulder at Mulder and shook his head. 
"Nothing yet.  But tons of sites yet to visit."

"Mulder, why don't you go home and try to get some sleep?"
Scully suggested.  "You're not really accomplishing anything
here--"

"No, Scully."  He shook his head firmly.  

"Well, at least take a break.  We could get something to
eat--I'll bet you skipped dinner."

He thought of the Thai food sitting in his refrigerator. 
What plans he'd had, he thought with a wry half-smile.  "I'm
okay, Scully.  I'm not gonna starve."

"I could make a food run," Annelle suggested, pushing back
from her computer where she was continuing the slow search
of databases connected to the FBI network.

"No, you keep working, Annelle."  Scully patted the younger
woman's shoulder.  "I'll go get something for all of us. 
There's an all night deli on New Hampshire--you want your
usual, Mulder?"

He nodded, distracted by Pendrell's soft exclamation of
satisfaction.  "What is it, Pendrell?"

"Found an old Pharmacology Associates newsletter that
mentions Pinck Pharmaceutical.  Seems that they were working
on a serum to treat Marburg and Ebola."

"Any link to the Reston monkey house?" Annelle asked.

Mulder and Pendrell both turned to look at her.  

Her dark brows arched slightly. "I read THE HOT ZONE," she
defended.

Pendrell turned back to the computer screen.  "The
newsletter just mentions unidentified test sites along the
East Coast." 

"Maybe we can cross-link with Ebola or Marburg?" Mulder
suggested.

"I have a file at home I started compiling on infectious
diseases after the Cumberland Prison outbreak, Mulder."
Scully crossed to his side, putting her hand on his
shoulder.  Her touch was warm, reassuring.  "All the other
evidence was lost in that case, but I thought maybe if I
pieced together what I knew with some research I did--"

He looked up at her, tenderness mingling with pride
deep inside him.  His Scully, the stickler for proof, always

managed to come through for him when he needed it most.  
"Anything on Pinck Pharmaceutical?"

"A few things.  It's been a while since I looked at the
files.  I could go get them, grab some food while I'm at
it."

He nodded.  "Want me to come with you?"

She shook her head.  "Nah.  Stay here and bug Pendrell."

Pendrell grinned up at her over his shoulder.  Damned eager
little puppy, Mulder thought.

Scully slid her fingers lightly across his shoulder toward
his neck.  Her fingernails rasped lightly against the side
of his neck, shooting prickles through his body.  Her eyes
darkened slightly as she met his gaze.  He swallowed with
difficulty.

She withdrew her hand and turned toward the door.  He
watched her go, his breath trapped in his chest.  

"I've just cross referenced Reston, and there's nothing
connecting to Pinck."  Annelle Hollis' low Southern drawl
broke the spell.  He took a slow, deep breath and looked at
her.  Her brown eyes laughed at him, and he felt like he was
standing naked in the middle of traffic.  He frowned
slightly, making her eyes dance even more.  "I could try
Fort Detrick, but a lot of that's gonna be restricted."

He looked away from her knowing smile and nodded.  "Try it
anyway."  At this point, he didn't care if he had to hack
into every computer in the Pentagon--

He sat bolt upright.  Damn it, why hadn't he thought of
them?

He grabbed the phone on the desk in front of him and punched
in a number.  Two rings later, Langly answered.  "LONE
GUNMAN."

"Turn off the tape."


*  *  *  *  *


Scully retrieved the dossier on Pinck Pharmaceutical from
its hiding place in a lock box at the back of her closet. 
Too impatient to wait, she opened the file and looked over
it while she called in a sandwich order at an all night
diner down the street from her apartment.  The file was more
clinical than investigatory--she'd put much more effort into
charting the disease she'd beheld at Cumberland Prison than
into proving Pinck Pharmaceutical's complicity in the
outbreak--
and the company's connection to Cancerman and his cronies.  
That was Mulder's part of their partnership.

She did find an article she'd pulled off the Internet
regarding 
Pinck Pharmaceutical's purchase of the Rockville 
distribution site.  Pinck had bought the property and the
existing structure, which had been a grocery warehouse, in
March of 1995.  In passing, the blurb mentioned a viral 
outbreak among lab animals at one of the company's drug 
research facilities.  The article didn't mention the
location of 
the "hot" site, only that the facility had been shut down in
early August, 1994, and never reopened.

August, 1994....

Scully's cell phone burred, and she shut the file. 
"Scully."

"Hi, it's me."

She tried to temper a surge of excitement.  "Do you have
something?"

"Not yet--I've got the guys at the GUNMAN checking some of
their sources."

"Oh, we should have thought of them right away!"

He didn't speak for a moment, and she wondered if she'd lost
the connection.  

"Mulder?"

"Just not used to your talking nicely about the boys."

She smiled at the phone.  "Like you said before, Mulder,
this is Samantha.  If I thought the Stupendous Yappi might
give us a clue, I'd dial his 1-900 number in a heartbeat."

"Any luck on your end?"

"Just a confirmation that Pinck was doing virology research
at an unnamed facility that was later shut down after a
viral outbreak among the lab animals."

"Any connection?"

She hesitated, wondering if she was as guilty of leaping to
conclusions as she often accused Mulder of being.  But the
timing was...strange....

"Scully?"

"The Pinck virology research site was shut down in early
August, 1994."

He didn't say anything for a long moment.  But she could
hear the soft, whispery sound of his breathing.

"There's probably no connection--" she began.

"In your hypnosis session, you mentioned being taken
somewhere after you were removed from the train.  Could it
have been a research facility?"

The muscles of her shoulders tightened, and she could almost
see a door closing in her mind.  "I don't know.  I don't
remember any of what I said under hypnosis, Mulder--I told
you that."  She felt her stomach twisting and her pulse rate
quickening.  "I don't--"

I don't want to remember, she realized.

I don't want to know.

Her mind was fighting memory.  Struggling to hold back the
full horror she'd gone through.  That was why she was
suddenly so tense, wasn't it?  It wasn't anxiety for
Samantha or concern for Mulder.  It was fear.

Terror.

"Scully?"

She cleared her throat, tried to calm her suddenly ragged
breathing.  "I ordered some sandwiches--I'll pick them up
and be there in a little bit.  Maybe Byers will have
something for you by then."  She hung up without saying
goodbye, afraid her burgeoning fear would add to his own
anxiety.  

Outside, the rain had stopped, and the temperature was
beginning to plunge.  A sharp wind was already drying the
streets and driving late-night stragglers behind doors. 
Scully stopped briefly to pick up her sandwich order and
rushed back to the car, shivering as the icy wind lifted her
hair and crept beneath the collar of her coat.  She cranked
up the heat and headed for New Hampshire Avenue.  

She had gone almost five miles before she realized she was
headed away from D.C.

She blinked, surprised that she could have been so
distracted.  She pulled off the main strip and was about to
turn around when she saw the sign at the edge of the parking
lot where she'd turned.  "Best Buy Food Mart."

It was an insignificant sign, one she'd probably seen a
thousand times over the past few years.  It was yellow with
bold blue letters rimmed in red.  The sign was illuminated
from within, but one of the bulbs inside was apparently
blown, for the left side of the sign was significantly
dimmer than the right side.  

And Scully remembered.

Night.  Dark, thick, heavy.  Cold, she was so cold.  Cold
and hurting.  She ached everywhere.  She was dying.  

Scully put her car in park and slumped back against the
seat, shivering.  Oh, God.  

She remembered.

She was in the back of a vehicle.  Like an ambulance, but no
sirens.  No attendants.  Maybe it was a hearse.  Maybe she
was already dead....

A soft tap on her window startled her, and she jerked
upright, her heart slamming against her ribcage.  She stared
up into the face of a night guard.  

"Are you okay, lady?" he asked, his voice muffled by the car
window.  

She nodded.  "Fine," she managed to say. 

"Are you lost?"

She shook her head.  "No--I'm fine."  She put her car into
drive and pulled back onto New Hampshire Avenue.  

Still headed out of D.C.

She kept driving east toward the Beltway. She took the
Beltway to Washington-Baltimore Boulevard, following her
memories.

She had been strapped on a gurney, held immobile, but she
had been able to see through the tinted windows of the
vehicle.  She had seen the flash of signs, trees, and buildings, 
heard the noise of traffic--  

Her cell phone rang, making her jump.  Her hands jerked on
the steering wheel, making her car swerve slightly toward
the other lane.  Fortunately traffic was light, and Scully
regained control without incident.  She opened her cell
phone.  "Scully."

"Where are you?"

"Washington-Baltimore Boulevard, headed toward Baltimore."

"Baltimore?"  Mulder's voice sounded choked.  "Why?"

"I remembered something...."  A chill was creeping up her
back, outdistancing the heat pouring through the car's
vents.

"Scully--listen...me...Byers...something...." Mulder's voice
faded into static.  Scully shut off her phone and tried to
dial him back, but she couldn't get through.

Her phone rang twice in the next twenty minutes, but when
she answered, she heard only static.  She was driving 
past the National Agricultural Research Facility and 
Fort Meade--maybe the government facilities were 
causing problems with her cell phone.  It wouldn't be the 
first time.

As she neared the Baltimore-Washington International
Airport, a jet coming in for landing passed overhead, its
roar like an echo of the past, and she remembered how it had
felt to lie in the back of that vehicle years earlier, drifting
in and out of consciousness only long enough to be afraid.

She had known where she was.  They hadn't bothered to hide
it from her.  And she'd feared that it meant they had no
intention of returning her alive.

Her heart clenched at the memory of her terror, the horrible
certainty that she was never going to see her family again. 

Never going to see Mulder....

Her cell phone rang again, jarring her back to the present. 
She realized tears were trickling down her cheeks; she wiped
them away and reached for her phone.  "Scully."
                                                             
"Scully, where are you?"  She heard a rumbling sound
through the earpiece and realized that Mulder was in a car.  

She glanced at the road sign.  "About ten minutes out of
Baltimore."

"I'm headed your way now--I'm probably ten or fifteen minutes 
behind you now.  Listen, Byers found something."     

She barely registered his remark as she changed lanes on
instinct, heading for a turn off.

"Scully, did you hear me?"

She took the right hand turn before she spoke.  "Yeah--Byers
found something?"

"He found a CONSPIRACY JOURNAL article about Pinck
Pharmaceutical's shutdown of its virology research
facility."

"It's just outside Baltimore, isn't it?"

Mulder paused a beat before answering.  "Yes, on Alvarado
Parkway."

Scully glanced at a street marker as she passed.  "I'm on
Alvarado."

"Scully, what the hell--"

"I was there, Mulder.  I was at that facility.  It wasn't
shut down because of a viral outbreak.  It was shutdown to
accommodate my captors.  There was testing going on there,
Mulder, and it may well have been viral research.  But the
test subjects weren't animals."  A shudder wracked her body.

"Scully, pull off and wait for me.  Don't go to that
warehouse--"

She crested a small rise and found herself staring at a 
sprawling two-story warehouse.  "Mulder, I'm there."

The warehouse was at the edge of a manufacturing area, 
far enough apart from the warehouses further down the 
road to be safe from prying eyes.  Not so secluded that 
it would excite curiosity, the warehouse was the perfect 
place for sins to be hidden in plain sight.  

A faded For Sale sign stood at a crooked angle in the 
grassy shoulder between the road and the outer edge
of the parking lot.  Scully doubted the building had excited
the interest of buyers;  who would buy a facility where a
deadly virus had broken out?   She pulled her car off the
road onto the shoulder and extinguished the headlights.

Mulder's voice buzzed in her ear.  "Scully, get away from
there.  Go back down the road and wait for me, do you hear
me?"

She eyed the warehouse, wondering how she could make a
stealthy approach.  The front opened on the parking lot--no
way to sneak up there.  But the back butted up to a wooded
area--maybe if she parked at one of the warehouses down the
road and back-tracked....

"Damn it, Scully, listen to me!"  

Movement outside the Pinck warehouse distracted her
attention.  Dark figures emerged from the warehouse with the
speed and precision of a coordinated team.  Five or six--
maybe more.  They darted across the front lawn of the
warehouse and loaded into a black van parked nearby.  The
van jerked into gear before the side door was shut.

"Mulder, several people just left the warehouse in one hell
of a hurry."  She watched the red tail lights of the van 
disappear over the rise.

"I'm on my way, Scully."  

"Mulder, there are no other cars here now.  I'm going to
try to take a look around."

"No, Scully--"

She was already out of her car and across the road, led by
an overwhelming sense of urgency.  Something was wrong. 
Something horrible.  She couldn't sit still.  "I'm going in,
Mulder--I think Samantha is in there."

"Scully, damn it!"  

She hung up the phone and tucked it in her pocket, realizing
she needed both hands free.  The night was dark, clouds
obsuring the moon.  Down Alvarado, street lamps lit the
night, but here at the warehouse, all the lights were closer
to the building.  She squelched the sense of vulnerability
and darted closer, driven by feelings she didn't understand
and couldn't take time to analyze.  

Her phone trilled, and she almost shut it off.  But she took
pity on Mulder and answered.

"Damn it, Scully, don't you DARE hang up on me.  Where are
you?"

"Outside the warehouse. I'm about twenty yards from a side
entrance--"

Suddenly a deafening crash split the air, and seconds later 
Scully was slammed backwards, as if hit by an invisible
truck. Her cellular phone flew from her hand and landed with
a clatter on a concrete walkway fifteen feet away.  It
skidded to a stop, its glass front display reflecting the
flickering yellow column of flames that shot into the night
sky from the heart of the darkened warehouse.  

From the cracked earpiece, Fox Mulder's frantic voice
screamed Scully's name, the cries swallowed by the
hiss and roar of conflagration.


*  *  *  *  *


1:11 a.m.


She was awake.  Not fully--the edges of her vision were gray
and blurry, but for the first time since she'd been grabbed
and chloroformed in the alley behind Garnem's Pita Bakery,
Sarah Chandler was conscious.

She was conscious of almost everything--who she had been for
the last 22 years of her life as well as who she had been
for the first eight years of her life.  There were gaps, but
she knew enough to know that she was in serious danger.  She
smelled smoke.  She felt the growing heat that drove away
the chill of the darkness.

She had to get out.  

She could barely move.  Her body felt numb, nerveless.  But
she was alone in the room.  No one could stop her--but no
one could help her, either.

She thought of her parents--the Chandlers, she corrected
with a crinkle of her forehead.  The only parents she'd
known for 22 years.  It had been over a year since she'd
seen them, and they'd parted in anger.  

Now, she wondered if she'd ever see them again.  Or her real
parents--Bill and Caroline Mulder.  

Were they even alive?

Did they remember her?

Fox....

She whispered his name into the silence, her voice little
more than breath.  He was still alive.  She knew where he
was, where to find him.  She had a picture of him--she
remembered wondering why she had been so drawn to that
photograph in her scrap book.  Now she understood.

Fox...so handsome.  She'd never have guessed he'd turn out
so well; he'd always been a geeky boy. 

Weak tears trickled down her cheeks.  Too many thoughts
paralyzing her brain.  She needed to move.  Needed to get
out of here.

She gathered her strength and heaved forward, trying to sit
up.  She succeeded only in tumbling from her gurney to the
floor, banging her chin in the process.  Pain jarred from
her head to her toe, and she crumpled to the floor, weeping.

Hands touched her shoulders, and she instinctively recoiled.

"I'm here to help you." The voice was warm, female.  The
hands were strong but gentle as they drew her to her feet. 
A steady arm circled her waist, keeping her standing. 
"You've got to help me, Sarah."

"Samantha," she murmured.  "I'm Samantha Mulder." She tried
to lift her face to look at her rescuer, but all her
strength was focused on keeping her feet.

"Samantha."  The voice was in her ear.  Strong and soothing.
She arm around her waist propelled her forward.

They went through a door.  Smoke surrounded them, gray and
thick.  Samantha coughed.  Her rescuer tightened her grip
and half-dragged her around a corner.

There was a cracking sound, and fire flashed in front of
Samantha's eyes.  Next to her, she heard a scream of pain,
and the grip on her waist loosened.  Samantha crumpled to
the floor.

Near the floor, the smoke wasn't as dense.  Samantha drew
in deep breaths of the fresher air and tried to move.  She
felt a hand close over her wrist.  

"Are you okay?"  The voice was tight with pain yet strong
with determination.

"I think so--"  Samantha peered through the smoke, trying to
see her rescuer.  It was a woman.  The warehouse was too
dark for her to make out colors or features--and even if she
could, the woman's hand covered the right side of her
face and soot marred the left side.  The back of the woman's
hand was also blackened--she'd been burned. Yet she had
strength enough to lift Samantha with her free hand, drawing
her back to her feet.  

"We can't rest."  The woman half-dragged Samantha forward.

Samantha stumbled along with her, trying to do her part. 
Oddly, her exertions were making her feel stronger rather
than weaker. 

"I think there's a side exit near here."

Samantha's eyes and lungs burned from the smoke.  She was
still a little groggy--the corridors through which they were
making their way seemed to twist and turn like a maze.  She
could see little, but what she could make out looked like a
warehouse--but one far more complex and labyrinthine than
any she had ever seen.

Suddenly a shout split the air, and Samantha's rescuer
froze, drawing her back against the wall of the corridor.


*  *  *  *  *


1:21 a.m.


Mulder pushed the borrowed Buick to its limits, flooring the
accelerator and weaving his way around the light traffic on
Washington-Baltimore Boulevard.  The turn-off was in sight; 
Mulder put down the cell phone long enough to take the curve
at way too high a speed, then grabbed the phone again, 
listening.  He heard only the hiss-crackle sound of static.

Or fire?

By his watch only a minute passed before he saw the column
of smoke rising into the night sky.  It felt like more.  An
orange glow brightened the darkness and he pressed the
accelerator until the Buick shimmied and bucked.  He topped
the rise and saw the warehouse ahead, its heart engulfed in
flames.

No thought of stealth crossed his mind.  He swung into the
parking lot and barely jerked the car in park before he was
out the door and running toward the burning building.

Halfway down the walk, his foot hit something and he
skidded, tumbling to the grass and hitting flat on his solar
plexus.  His breath exploded from his lungs and he writhed
with pain, trying to suck in air.  He managed to crawl to
his hands and knees, managed to find what had impeded his
progress.

Scully's phone.

He looked up at the warehouse, saw how the flames had
tripled just since he first came into view of the inferno. 
And he knew without a doubt that Scully was in there,
looking for his sister.

No, God, no, please--

Scully would risk her life to give Samantha back to him.  He
had known that years ago, when he had kept from her the
identity of the woman on the bridge.  He had known,
instinctively, that she would never choose her own life over
that of his sister.  It was the kind of woman she was--the
kind of friend and partner she was.

And now--

He pushed to his feet and weaved an unsteady but purposeful
path toward the burning warehouse.  "Scully!"


*  *  *  *  *


Scully heard her name.  She pulled up short, recognizing
Mulder's voice.  So soon?

She felt torn--Samantha was in here somewhere.  She knew it
with a certainty she'd not felt for years--the same
certainty that had convinced her that Mulder would return to
her side and rejoin her in their search for the truth. 

She just knew.

"Sarah!"  Her shout was a hoarse croak--she'd been inhaling
a lot of smoke over the last few minutes.  Too much smoke. 
She was already wheezing, already feeling lightheaded.  The
warehouse was a maze--corridor building on corridor, made
all the more impenetrable by the haze of smoke and the
urgency of passing time.  If Samantha had been held in the
central part of the warehouse, she was already lost. 
Whatever explosive device had been used to blow up the
warehouse had included an incendiary--she could smell the
fumes of accelerant, reminding her of the Cecil L'ively
case.  Thank God Mulder was afraid of fire--that should make
him think twice before coming in here after them.

"Scully!"  

God, his voice was closer than before.  

Was he coming in?

No.  She couldn't let him come in here.  

"Mulder, stay out there!"  Her voice was weak, scratchy.  A
coughing fit seized her, made her grab at the wall to steady
herself.

"Scully!"

She had to go back.  If she didn't go back and stop him, he
would come in here, and they would all be lost.

She turned and began to retrace her steps toward the door.


*  *  *  *  *


Raven bit her lip and ignored the pain screaming down the
right side of her face and neck.  She had shielded Samantha
Mulder from the rain of burning debris at her own risk--the
instinct of the soldier.  Protect and defend.  

But she wasn't a soldier anymore.  And she had more pressing
matters to deal with than the life of one woman.  She had
done her duty.  Samantha Mulder was within reach of
salvation.  And Raven had already sacrificed enough to bring
her to this point.

She could wait no longer to make her own escape.  And she
didn't have time to be encumbered by Samantha Mulder.

She stopped and positioned Samantha against a wall.  Up
ahead, billowing smoke denoted where the side exit door was
to be found.  "There's the exit," she told Samantha,
pointing toward the opening.  "I can't help you any more. 
It's up to you to follow me."

She didn't wait to make sure Samantha understood.  There was
no more time.

She fled through the door into the night.

Cold air hit her wound like fresh fire, and she almost
screamed.  But her training had taught her much about self-
preservation.  Stealth was her only hope, and there was too
much open ground between the warehouse and the safety of the
woods for her to take risks.

She bit her lip until it bled, focusing all thought on the
sharp metallic taste filling her mouth.  She staggered into
the woods and found shelter.

The pain was gut-wrenching.  She vomited, and the exertion
increased the pain until she felt as if her body were one
huge, swollen throbbing nerve.  She had to find shelter. 
Had to find help.

But there was no one to turn to now.  One look at the burn
on her face, and Carter would know.  They would all know.

She had severed all ties tonight.  

All for the sake of a woman she'd never met and would
probably never see again.

She pushed to her feet and weaved through the woods to where
she'd hidden her rental car, counting steps to divert her
mind from the pain and from her growing sense of isolation
and vulnerability.

Nobility, she mused, is severely overrated.


*  *  *  *  *


Mulder reached the front door of the warehouse.  It was open
a crack; smoke curled around the edges.  He touched the
handle and found it hot.

Suddenly the door burst open, slamming him backwards.  He
stumbled but managed to keep his feet as the small, soot-
covered figure hit him at a full run.

He curled his arms around her.  "Scully!"

Scully's eyes were frantic.  "Run, Mulder!"  She jerked away
from his embrace, dragging him behind her with surprising
strength.  "It's rigged to blow again!" she wheezed,
stumbling as her feet left the concrete walk and hit the
grass.  

Mulder took over, wrapping his arm around her waist and
half-carrying her with him as he ran as far from the
warehouse as he could.  But when the second explosion hit,
they were close enough to feel the concussion.  The
compressed wall of air hit Mulder in the back and knocked
them both sprawling.

When his head cleared, Mulder looked back at the warehouse. 
It was nothing but flame.

In the distance, the wail of sirens split the air, barely
audible over the roar of the warehouse fire.  Beside him,
Scully was a knot of warmth tucked against his rib cage; 
instinctively he gathered her up and held her tightly,
letting the feel of her ease the worst of his raging fear.

She's safe she's safe she's safe oh God she's safe....

But as his fear subsided, his grief swelled, unquenchable. 
It filled him, drenched him, surged through him.  He thought
it might be the only thing holding him upright.  He
whispered the name imprinted on his heart.  "Samantha...."

Scully pressed her face against his throat.  He felt her hot
tears dripping down his neck.  "I'm sorry," she whispered,
her voice a faint rasp.

He closed his eyes, swallowing convulsively.  His muscles
bunched on instinct, screaming at him to get off his ass and
plunge into the heart of the fire.  Samantha was in there. 
She needed him.

But if she was in there, she was dead.  

There.  He'd thought the words. 

Samantha was dead.  And even though there was a dark
allurement in the thought of sacrificing himself to that
same fire that had finally taken her from him, he resisted,
trapped in the strong grip of his partner's arms.  If he
went into the fire, Scully would follow.  She would die
rather than give him up to death.  She'd proved that more
than once.

And he would not be the cause of her death, too.

"Maybe she's not in there."  Scully voiced the hope, but he
could tell that she believed otherwise.  

He brushed her hair away from her face, wiping away smudges
of soot.  Through a blur of tears, he read the anguish in
her expression, her own sense of guilt and loss.  He
couldn't bear the sight of it; he looked away, over her
shoulder toward the warehouse fire.

And saw movement.

Scully looked up at him, betraying her surprise as his arms
tightened around her.  "What is it?"  

It WAS movement.  Slow, unsteady...a dark figure moving away
from the fire, silhouetted against the blaze.  He could tell
only that it was human--tall, slender, slight.  Female. 
Longish hair lifted by the wind.

He pushed to his feet, pulling Scully with him.  He heard
Scully's gasp and knew she had seen the figure, too.

He ran forward a few steps, Scully keeping pace at his side. 
But as the figure grew more distinct, as she stepped into a
puddle of light from one of the lamps illuminating the
parking lot, as her features were finally revealed to him,
he faltered.

It was too much.

Too much.

Scully paused with him, looking up into his face, searching 
his expression.  He met her gaze, his wide eyes telling her 
what she wanted to know.

She turned and ran toward the woman.  Mulder lagged behind,
his body suddenly unresponsive to the urgings of his
whirling mind.  He watched Scully gather the woman into the
protection of her arms, watched the two women close the
distance between him and them.

He saw the light of recognition in a pair of hazel eyes so
like his very own.

"Fox?"

A band of tension snapped inside him, and he lurched
forward, arms outstretched.  He whispered her name and
gathered her up into his embrace.

After twenty-five years, Fox Mulder had finally found his
sister.



End of 11